Time and Distance
by Frannie Grace
Summary: Clayton won't open up. Kansas gets fed up. Tension goes up. (Follows "Stay")


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Disclaimer: I can only lay claim to Kansas. The rest goes to the Bellisario Mafia and the CBS mob who pay off the other fine characters I'm using today.

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Author's Notes: This one goes about a month after "Stay", and is the fourth in the "Bad Week" series of stories. Please, hold nothing against me as you read this, and remember, all characters are FICTIONAL! 

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Time and Distance

By Gayle F. Cox-Moffet

"This isn't working."

Kansas dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter.

Clayton glanced up from his own dinner. "What isn't working?"

She gestured to the both of them. "This fake conversation we've been having about how unrealistic some politicians campaign promises are. We're as see-through as some of the congressmen."

"What are you talking about?"

"Apparently nothing." Her voice lost all decisive tones in those two words.

He set his silverware aside and reached for her hand. "Kansas, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Clayton gripped her hand tighter as she tried to pull away. "What's wrong?"

"Everything. We haven't had a real conversation since-" She motioned to his wrists, which still had to be bandaged as a precaution. "-Since that girl was killed, and you made Patten sing soprano in the prison choir."

"Kansas, that's ridiculous. We just finished a real conversation."

"You must not have heard my reason for stopping that conversation."

"I heard it." He furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "I can name a dozen conversations we've had in the last twenty-four hours that have been real."

She shook her head emphatically, and her hair swirled in a red haze. "They've been filler, Clayton. All our conversations since you came back from your last assignment and that girl have just filled space. It's like the two-line blurb on the front page that reminds people to donate at the blood drive. It fills up empty space so everything looks neat. Filler."

"Could you possibly explain this without all the newspaper metaphors?"

"I'm saying you won't talk to me, and our relationship is emptying out."

"I talk to you." Clayton shook his head in disbelief. "You're one of the few people I *_really*_ talk to."

"You're not doing it now. You haven't done it in weeks."  


The implications of the discussion finally hit Clayton. "Are you breaking us off?"

"Us? Clayton, we're not pieces of plaster, we don't break off. I don't want to break what we have; I just want to-" She searched for the right phrase. "We need distance."

"Distance?" Clayton's Adam's apple was growing extremely large in his throat.

"Ever since Patten put you through the burning on your back, slitting your wrists, and made you watch them kill that girl, you've not been alone for more than a few hours at a time. If I'm not with you, you're with Porter or you're working. I haven't brought it up because I don't want to remember being scared out of my mind at the sight of you wrapped up like a suicide attempt, and you haven't brought it up because I think you're scared."

"Ka-"

"No, Clayton. I'm not changing my mind." Kansas felt him try to remove his hand from hers. She squeezed his fingers. "I love you, Clayton. I. Love. You."

"So this is one of those 'love them enough to let them go' scenarios?" The biting tone of his voice surprised Clayton. //_How am I getting anything past this knot in my throat?//_

Ice water cold came out in Kansas' voice. "I'm ignoring the sarcasm because I brought the subject up out of nowhere."

"No kidding."

She slid her purse onto her shoulder and stood up. "I'll call you in a few days, Clayton." A quick, soft, kiss on the lips. "I love you."

He watched her walk out of the restaurant and felt the throat-lump grow even thicker. "Damnit."

The waitress walked by and slipped the check under his plate. Clayton picked up the green slip of paper and looked it over with a half-amused, half-disdainful look on his face. //_Classic Kansas; nail a guy one and then leave him with the check.//_

*

Clayton turned over in bed and came into contact with-a pillow. He cursed under his breath and forced himself to open his eyes. //_So it really happened.//_ The covers came off, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

As was quickly becoming a habit, he stretched and grimaced as his lower back protested. The burn was healing at the proper rate, but Clayton was impatient to be able to get all the kinks out his back in the mornings. He scratched his shoulder and walked to the bathroom.

//_Never thought I'd wake up in the morning wishing someone was across the bed.//_ Clayton shook his head at his own thought. It sounded odd even in his head to want someone next to him. Especially someone as incorrigible as Kansas.

"I've got an Irish temper and Marine training. Most men aren't intimidated, they're reduced to thumb-suckers." 

Kansas had admitted that little tidbit the first night they stayed together, and Clayton had been quick to assure her he wasn't leaving anytime soon.

"I've got CIA training, and a broken nose from a two-star Admiral; I don't scare easy."

He stepped into the shower and let the water run over him. It had become habit after that for one or the other of them to stay at just one place for the night. Clayton had been playing with the idea of asking Kansas to move in with him for the past couple of weeks.

//_Well, there goes that thought._// Soaping up his body, Clayton rinsed, ran his hair under the water one more time, then shut off the water and pulled the curtain aside.

Porter Webb stood in the middle of the bathroom holding a towel out to her son. "Hello, Dear."

"It's called knocking, Mother." Clayton took the towel and wrapped it around his waist.

"Don't look so embarrassed, Dear; I've seen everything you have."

"It's been a few decades since I was young enough for diapers." He stepped around his mother and over to the sink.

Porter's response was halted as she saw her son's back. She had never allowed herself to see the wound until just then, and the shiny pink scar tissue scared her. Her son had been shot, stabbed, and on one occasion even poisoned, but to see an only partially healed wound scared her.

"Does it hurt?"

He looked at her from the mirror as he lathered up his face. "What?"

"Your back."

"Does it hurt?"

She nodded.

Clayton debated lying, but he knew better. "Sometimes if I'm not careful it hurts, but I'll survive."

"What about your wrists?"

He held up his hands so his wrists were reflected in the mirror. The line of the wounds were scabbed over and there were almost indistinct dot scars from the staples that had been in his wrists for the first few days after the attack. "They're fine, too. The doctor wants me to keep them wrapped so I don't scratch at them."

"Is anything else bothering you?" Porter watched him start to shave.

She had a flashback of coming over one night to go with Clayton and Kansas to dinner. It had been shortly after Clayton had seen Patten at the party she threw, and his wrists were still sore and weak. He had stood at the sink, his chin up, and allowed Kansas to give him a shave. Porter had watched a minute from the doorway, enjoying the sight of her son with his defenses down. It didn't happen often.

"There's nothing bothering me, Mother."

His defenses were high and getting higher. It was time for blunt honesty. "Kansas called me last night."

The razor stopped in mid-stroke. "She did?"

"Yes, and she gave me her reasons for what happened last night."

"Really?"

"Don't pull the indifferent tone with me, Clayton. It doesn't work." Porter caught his eyes in the mirror and held on. "It didn't work for her, either. Kansas is a person who talks her way through things; she doesn't bottle it up like you or I. She's a *_lawyer*_, Clayton. Her job is to talk through people's defenses."

"My defenses are there for a reason, Mother, you know that."

"I've never seen you with your defenses up around her."

"Maybe they should have been." Clayton splashed water on his face and straightened up again.

"Maybe you should have been more open."

"I'm running late, Mother. The office expects me soon. Could you show yourself out?" He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

"You're speaking to your mother, not a subordinate, Clayton. I don't enjoy being brushed off."

"And I don't enjoy rehashing the details of a very painful night. Please, mother." He begged slightly with his eyes.

The look hit Porter hard. //The last time he did that was when he wanted information on his father's final assignment.// "Fine, I'll go, but I want to see you tonight."

"Thank you, Mother. What time tonight?"

"Seven-thirty; I'll have dinner waiting for you." She leaned in and gave him a hug. "Goodbye, Dear."

"Bye, Mother." Clayton allowed her to move out of the bathroom, then leaned against the sink. He forced himself to stand straight and reach for his comb. Duty called.

*

Kansas finished buttoning her uniform and smoothed the front as she glanced in the mirror. A picture of Clayton pinning on her oak leaves when she was behind schedule one morning passed through her mind. She shoved it back and glared at herself in the mirror.

"Come on, Marine. You're acting like someone's died."

//Someone almost did.// Kansas shook her head hard and reached for her briefcase. "Thank about work. You've got cases to work on." 

It worked as she started her car and drove to JAG headquarters. "I need to find precedent for the Givens dereliction of duty charge…have to talk tot he Admiral about Sargent Jones' court martial." Her murmuring was cut off as she noticed the parking sticker on non-descript, dark blue car parked in a VISITOR spot.

She had been to Langley enough to know a CIA parking sticker when she saw one. //That's not Clayton's usual car; not that he'd be here. Who is it?//

Kansas unlocked her office door and tossed her briefcase on the couch. An Ensign came in, handed the Major her messages without a word and stepped back out. By Kansas' personal request, whoever was bringing her messages in the morning needed to do it as quietly as possible. She would never be enough of a morning person to talk through the first few minutes in the office.

Skimming over the messages, she was surprised to find one from Porter. CALL IMMEDIATELY. Kansas set the other messages aside and reached for her phone. Halfway through dialing, Harm and Mac let themselves in, followed by a tall, blonde man with green eyes, and a VISITOR badge clipped to his lapel.

The phone went back on the cradle as Kansas stared at the man in front of her. "Cogan, what are you doing here?"

The CIA agent held his hands up and shrugged. "I'm the wrong guy to ask. I got a call from Webb about an hour ago, and he asked me to brief you three on a situation."

"Why wouldn't Clay do it himself?" Harm saw Kansas tense at the question. //Trouble in paradise?//

"I'm just the messenger not the answer, Commander." Cogan saw the smile Mac was trying to hide. "What?"

"I was wondering if all CIA agents had to be smart-asses in order to do their job."

"Well, it does help, Colonel."

Kansas dug her nails into the desktop. "You do have an *actual* reason for being here, right, Alan?"

"Yes, but I'm having much more fun-"

"Cogan, just get to it."

Mac and Harm gave each other a look at the tone of Kansas' voice, but neither asked her about it. When she wanted to, Kansas could be intensely private.

The blonde man nodded. "Okay, sorry. Here's the deal. There's a high-up man from Italy coming in to speak with a few of the higher-up military personnel around here, and we need people to play bodyguards."

"We?" 

"The State Department and my branch, Commander."

"You can say CIA, Cogan."

"I'd rather not, Commander." Cogan replied.

"Why do you want us?" Kansas brought the conversation back on track. "You could just as easily get a couple of MPs to handle a bodyguard situation."

"Webb specifically requested the three of you. He said you're needed."

"Meaning there's more to this than just some Italian guy meeting with military people." Mac voiced.

"Maybe, Colonel. All I can say is you need formal wear and have to look like civilians; no dress uniforms or insignias can be in sight for this operation. Are you in?"

Mac nodded, "I'm in."

Harm nodded, "I'm in."

Kansas just spoke. "I'm in."

Cogan smiled. "Fantastic. I'll send over the rest of the information by courier tomorrow." He turned to leave.

"Alan, could you hold on a minute?" Kansas' request made the three other people in the office look at each other.

He paused for a moment. "Sure."

"We'll leave you two." Harm said as he and Mac headed for the door.

"Thanks." Kansas watched them exit, and then gestured to a chair in front of her desk. "You can sit down; I don't bite."

"I know you don't, but you were acting like it wouldn't be such a bad idea a minute ago." Cogan sat.

"Sorry, but last night was kind of long." 

"Didn't you have dinner with Clayton?" Now that the others were gone, Alan's professional manner was gone. Webb was Clayton.

"Yes."

"Fight?"

"Not really, but it classifies in the same group." She dropped her head for a few seconds. "Which is probably why he didn't come in to do this briefing himself."

"Most likely." He looked her in the eye when she glared at him. "It's true, Kansas."

"I know, but it's not as if I don't have enough guilt over this whole thing." //God knows I should.// She shook off that thought. "Did you see him this morning?"

"Nope; he called from his apartment. His mother had dropped by, and he was running late. He should be in when I get there. Do you want me to pass on a message to him?"

A shake of her head, "No, I'll talk to him face-to-face when it's time for it."

Cogan stood. "Okay. Anything else?"

"You know the rule, right?"

"If I mention this conversation to anyone you'll show me a real torturous death, right?" He smiled.

In spite of herself, Kansas smiled back slightly. "That's the rule. I'll see you later, Alan."

He picked up on the tone in her voice. "You're welcome, Kansas. I'll keep him in my sights." The door closed behind him quietly.

"Someone needs to." She grabbed the nearest file and was going to get to work when the bright pink message note caught her attention. "Might as well get the dressing down over with." She dialed Porter's number and waited as it rang.

*

//Chicken.// 

Clayton looked at the picture he had of himself and Kansas on his desk, and the word kept playing through his head like a mantra.

//Chicken. Chicken. Chicken. Chicken.//

He smiled at the picture. It was a candid shot of the two of them on the Einstein statue in the park across from the White House. Someone had walked by, and Kansas, in her infinite trust of people walking by, had asked one of them to get a picture with that huge camera with four different lenses, she had been carrying that day.

Lucky for both of them, the man turned out to be a photojournalist, and he understood all the settings, so the picture was in focus, the angle was straight, and he hadn't tried any weird angles just to see how it would look.

The picture itself showed Einstein's head from the eyes up, with Clayton on the left, his arm around Kansas, and her with her hair in two braids. He had made her smile at the camera by telling her she looked like a burnt Indian. Her response had been timed just after the shutter clicked.

"At least I don't dress like someone's grandfather."

//Get your head together, Clayton.// He ran a hand along the back of his neck and looked at his desk. There was enough paperwork to keep his busy for the day, but he didn't feel like attempting paperwork. A knock on the door cinched the decision. "What?"

Alan Cogan's head came around the doorframe. His blonde hair was wind-blown, and he looked completely comfortable for someone who had just gone to a briefing at the last minute. "Hey, you got a minute?"

"No."

"Liar. I know for a fact you have nothing but paperwork today."

"That's why I don't have a minute to waste. I'm planning to waste it on triplicate forms." Clayton saw the bemused look go across the other's man face. "Shut the door and get in here."

He complied and leaned on Clayton's desk. "Do I get a reason behind why I covered your ass this morning?"

"No."

"Do I get a reason behind why I covered your ass this morning?" 

"No."

"Are you going to keep denying an answer to my question?"

"Yes."

"You know I can do this all day, right?"

"So?" Clayton barely glanced up as he started on the first of many forms.

"You fought with her."

"No."

"She started it."

"Yes."

"Do you ever start it?"

"Plenty of times, but I don't admit it."

Cogan paused in his interrogation. //Did Clayton just admit to what I think he did?// "Clay?"

The dark-haired man flipped his pen onto the desk and looked at the man hovering over his desk. "She requested a break. I really couldn't do anything but agree. She thinks I don't talk about what happened enough to be comfortable with it."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Comfortable with it?"

"I almost got murdered. That's very hard to get comfortable with."

For a moment, very terse silence surrounded the office. Alan cleared his throat, a loud sound for the moment and squeezed out a few words. "I'll watch her at this bodyguard thing and let you know how it turns out."

Clayton looked down at the picture again. "She's going to need a date."

"I'll be her date."

"Alan, your idea of a date is a drink, a dance, and then to bed."

"I've never dated a Marine; I'm not chancing it."

"She scared you that bad?" He laughed.

"She's small, but there's something about her that makes me stay back; I think it's her eyes."

"They can make her much larger than you think." Clayton had flashes of those bottle-green eyes go through his head. She'd looked at him in anger, in laughter, sadness, and in supreme denial that she was right when she was wrong. He loved her eyes.

Alan nodded slowly. "It's her eyes." He gave a small shudder. "She can sure scare the hell out of me."

"Join the inner circle."

*

"Webb residence." The butler sounded as indifferent as ever.

Kansas took a deep breath. "Kansas McWilliams for Porter Webb."

"One moment."

//Hell, I call Porter once a week for five months, you think the butler could at least show a drop of emotion.//

"Hello, Kansas." 

"Hi, Porter. How are you?"

"I saw Clayton this morning."

//Good to know small talk isn't dead.// "How did he seem?"

"He seems fine." Porter's voice held the smallest smear of disdain.

Kansas picked up on it. "I found it necessary, Porter. If I kept up the charade that we were fine, it would have hurt him more. He's not fine, I'm not fine, and as a couple we were bordering on completely un-personal. I refuse to go to that point with him."

"Why?"

"Because I'm in love with your son, and I know it could be a lifetime commitment."

Porter was quiet. "Could be?"

"If he can talk about it, and if I can accept it without over worrying, I could see a very long relationship."

"Did you break it off with him because you're scared?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Kansas heard the surprised pause. "Porter, even Marines have to admit fright at some point. Maybe they should teach people in your line of work to do it too."

"It's seen as weak."

"Funny, most psychiatrists see it as a brave indication of mental comfort."

"Young lady, I may not be your mother, but I am someone's mother, and you will not use that tone with me if you want to come within ten feet of my household again."

Kansas pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it for a moment. //This has to look pretty stupid.// She put the phone back to her ear. "Porter, I'm thirty-three, and I have great respect for you, but I believe I'm entitled to use whatever tone I want in this conversation."

"You just broke up with my son; I should hang up on you."

"Hold on a minute!" Kansas' voice raised enough for a few people near her office to look over. "I spoke to you before all this happened so you would understand my intentions. You said you understood, and that you wouldn't second guess my plans!"

"I didn't expect Clayton to take it so harshly. He looks like he lost his best friend, and in a way, he has."

"Porter-"

"Don't interrupt. You were his friend, Kansas. You were also his girlfriend."

"Were? You're speaking in past tense. I'm not leaving him alone forever, Porter. I'm giving him the time and distance he needs to look at himself."

"You're running away in fear."

"Yes, I am."

There was a long pause at that. "You admitted that already."

"No, I said I was scared. Fear and scare are two different things. Fear keeps you from doing something completely, scare just makes you slightly nervous." Kansas leaned her head back into the chair. "Yes, I'm running in fear. I'm also running to figure out why I'm so scared. Other than the obvious."

"The obvious?" Porter sounded skeptical.

"The obvious fact that if he doesn't get as lucky in his next mission and dies, I don't know if I can handle that without giving up."

"Giving up what?"

//Damnit, she's relentless. Reminds me of a certain guy I once dated.// "Giving up everything!" Kansas barely notice the throng of people gathering around her office.

"Goodbye, Kansas." The phone clicked.

Kansas slammed down the receiver. "Last word." She looked up from her mutter to the group of people around her door. "What the hell are you looking at? You've never seen an angry person before?"

The crowd dissipated, and Kansas clenched her fists for a minute.

//Of course, no one ever said breaking it off would be easy.//

//Would someone please tell the logical part of my brain to shut the hell up?//

*

"Come on, Ladies. I thought the Marine Corps taught you not to be so high-maintenance." Cogan's voice came through the bathroom door.

Mac looked to Kansas. "You know him better than I do; you take this one."

Kansas stopped midway through applying her lipgloss. "Alan, I know your holster is on the back of your pants, and I also know how easy it would be to reposition it so you walk bow-legged. Be a good little spy and get the hell away from the door."

There was silence for a moment. "Don't salute me, Alan."

"How do you do that?" Cogan sounded disbelieving.

"I'm just that good. Get away from the door and keep Harm company. Don't salute or I'll break your arm off." Kansas smiled at Mac and finished her makeup.

"How'd you know he was saluting?"

"He does it every time I say something that resembles him getting bodily injured, but he always does it behind my back. Clayton was the one who let me in on the secret."

"Where is Clayton?" Mac screwed her mascara closed. She'd been wondering for the past few days where Webb had disappeared to; he had made it a habit to drop by at least once a day to see Kansas, and Mac had quickly noticed that he had made himself scarce.

"Not here."

"Yeah, Cogan kind of gave that fact away."

"Well, then he's not here."

"Funny, I never knew someone's knuckles could get so see-through."

"You live you learn. We better get out there." Kansas moved past Mac and into the living room.

//Well, that went over badly.// Mac followed the other woman out of the bathroom with a sigh. //Mission aborted.//

Harm offered his arm and watched Mac as she took it. He leaned in close as they stepped into the elevator. "No luck?"

She shook her head.

The foursome stepped onto the sidewalk outside the building, and Cogan and Kansas stepped into the waiting limo. "How did she react?"

"Like a pitbull with his teeth in your leg." Mac slipped into the limo and gave Harm a look that cut off further conversation.

Harm shook his head in frustration. //One of these days I'm going to ignore that look.//

*

Clayton sat in his office, shirt sleeves rolled up, vest stripped off, and his tie twisting in his hands. It was after two a.m. Cogan was supposed to have checked in at midnight. There had been no call.

He turned in his chair, his feet dropping off his desk, and stared at the phone with an intensity usually saved for interrogations. //Ring. Ring. Ring.// His hand slammed down on the oak desktop. //This is ridiculous. What am I worrying about? It's a clean and simple bodyguard situation.//

//No, it's not.//

//Would someone please tell the logical part of my brain to shut up?//

Before Clayton could figure out where *that* particular phrase had come from, the phone rang. He pulled it off the cradle and almost pulled the cord out in the process. "Webb."

"Nice bark. How's your bite?"

"Kansas?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Clayton."

He immediately switched to his commanding voice. Her teasing was something he didn't want to handle right then. "It's two a.m. The final check-in was supposed to be at midnight."

"Sorry, Mom, but when shots get fired, check-in is a little hard." Sarcasm weighed heavy on her voice.

"Shots were fired?"

"Yes, shots were fired. It seems to be a redundant piece in all the missions you organize, Clayton." The sarcasm was replaced with humor.

"Are you okay?"

"I wasn't hit. Harm and Mac are fine, and Cogan only got a flesh wound to his upper arm."

"Cogan got shot?" Clayton's worry went from the woman on the line to the agent. "Is he okay?"

"Hear for yourself." Kansas held the phone away from her ear.

Over the line Clayton distinctly heard an order for some type of medication, and over that, Cogan insisting that he didn't need a shot. 

"I'm fine. No shots needed. You can stitch it up without the numbing stuff. Oh, god."

"Is he always this squeamish around needles?" Kansas was laughing.

Clayton felt himself start to laugh with her. "Usually he's worse. The surprise in the shooting must have numbed him a little."

"More like a lot. He just passed out."

The small laugh lengthened. "That's much worse than usual." //I can't believe I'm laughing with my ex-girlfriend over the fact that one of my agents has passed out from a needle after being shot.// "So you're okay?"

Kansas sighed over the line. "I'm fine, Clayton. We're all fine. You'll have all our reports in a couple of days." There was noise in the background. "I have to go; Cogan's mumbling obscenities at the doctors. I'll come by with the reports. Bye, Clayton." The phone beeped its goodbye.

He stared at the phone for a minute. "She'll drop them off?" //Is that a good sign?//

*

After the phone call and the obliglitory four cups of coffee to wake himself up enough to drive, Clayton found himself at home, on his couch, fighting with his insides on whether or not to sleep on said couch for the third night in a row.

//I slept in my bed alone long before she came along, why can't I do it now?//

//Because you're afraid she won't come back if you start sleeping alone again.//

//That's completely illogical.//

//You're human, not a Vulcan; illogical can work sometimes.//

//God, now she's turned me into a Trekkie.//

Standing, Clayton shook his head to clear the conversation he was having with himself and headed for the bedroom. "It's just a bed. It doesn't bite." He fell into it, fully clothed, and was asleep in minutes.

*

Kansas stood outside the main door to the Langley offices and felt herself tense up. //Relax. It's completely professional. You're dropping off a file.//

//Sure, and the rodents in *The Princess Bride* looked real.//

//Note to logical brain; shut up!//

Sighing to herself, she flashed ID at the guard, returned the salute as she stepped into the door. It was nothing but cubicles and hallways and a few glass offices, but Kansas made the trip back to Clayton's office easily. She had traveled to see him plenty of times.

//When you can waltz through CIA headquarters without thinking, it's time to see someone.//

//You are here to see someone.//

//Once again, shut up, logic.//

Clayton's office door was in front of her, and Kansas faltered for just a moment. //For cripes sake! Suck it up and go in!// She went in without knocking.

For all his sarcasm, cynicism, and deeply buried goodness, Clayton Webb still looked five years old when he was passed out asleep on his desk.

Kansas bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing at the sight. //He probably didn't get more than a few hours sleep last night.// The surpressed laughter stopped suddenly. //Of course, he doesn't get enough sleep to begin with.//

He shifted, and his hair fell into his eyes. Kansas stepped forward, dropping the file soundlessly onto the table in front of the couch. She leaned in and brushed his hair out of the way. "Clayton?" It was a whisper.

Clayton's head shot up, his hands slipping on the desktop. "What?!" His eyes cleared slightly, and he saw Kansas in front of him. "What?"

"You were asleep."

"And?"

"And I'm here with the report from last night." She grabbed it from the table and handed it to him. "You wanted to see it immediately, right?"

"Yes. Thanks." He opened the folder and looked it over quickly. "How's Alan?"

"They kept him overnight, and he bitched when they tried to give him an IV. How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Obviously not enough if I fell asleep on my desk."

Kansas sat in a chair. "You may be cranky, but you don't have to snap."

"You sound like my mother."

"No, I don't. She's much meaner."

He looked up from the file. "Excuse me?"

"We had an interesting conversation the other day."

"Should I apologize?"

Kansas smiled at him slightly. "No, I deserved most of it. Any questions on the report?"

The folder was tossed onto his desk. "No, it looks fine. You look like hell, by the way."

"Thank you, Clayton."

"You're welcome." He paused, not sure how to ask the question he was thinking.

"Just ask it, Clayton."

//How does she know what I'm thinking?// "Where do we stand?"

"We stand on our own two feet."

"Which makes us-" He raised his eyebrows in question.

"Friends."

"Just friends?"

"Yes."

He breathed out heavily. "When can we move past the 'just friends' state?"

"When you move past the barrier that's keeping you from talking about what happened." It wasn't said with malice, just tired understanding that the process would take awhile.

Kansas stood and smiled at him. "I've got a meeting in the brig with a guy I'm defending. I'll see you later, Clayton."

Standing, he walked her to the door. "I'll call you later, and we'll go out for drink or something, okay?"

She leaned over and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Okay. Bye, Clayton."

"Bye, Kansas."


End file.
